Harry Potter: Rise of a Fallen Hero
by MacVega
Summary: Twenty-six hundred years ago an ancient and noble civilization halted the Assyrian invasion of Egypt, but at a terrible cost. Every last man, woman, and child fell in the process. Now centuries later, events have been set..Independent.Powerful.Int.Harry
1. Forward: Revalations

Authors Notes:

_I know how many people don't want to bother reading the author's notes and just wish to read the story so I am addressing most of the authors related stuff to the bottom of my chapters. I want to thank all of the people who have helped me to make what was in my head come alive for both myself, and others. I also always enjoy a good laugh reading your editing since you banter with one another while giving me great feedback. Humorous constructive criticism is good for the soul. This story currently does not have a beta reader so if you are qualified and interested email me and let me know.  
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_Summary: _Twelve-hundred years ago an ancient and noble civilization halted the Assyrian invasion of Egypt, but at a terrible cost. Every last man, woman, and child fell in the process. Now centuries later, events have been set in motion that few individuals could have foreseen...Independent!Powerful!Harry/Multi, Manipulative!NotEvil!Dumbledore, Logical!Weasley!bashing

_Disclaimer: I DO NOT this series. They belong to those who came up with them, in this case: Rowling. However, I do own anything you don't recognize or never heard of ergo the original ideas or characters in my fan-fiction. Especially the foreword it took me a week to come up with that. It is a foreshadowing of sort's and an description of what is inspiring me and my characterization. I should hope to get the next chapter out in about a week. Thanks for your patience. If you have any particular requests or things you want to ask email me, pm me,or leave a review and I will get back to you. Note that not all requests will be fulfilled because they might not fit with what is going on in my head, if they do I will consider them. I also promise all of the chapters after this will be much longer.  
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_**Genres:**__ Romance, Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Slightly Spiritual, Alternate Universe __**Warnings:**__ Strong Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature (Lemon), Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme __**Era:**__ Hogwarts __**Pairings: **You'll just have to wait and find out. It says "multi" in the summary since I haven't completely decided who his girl is, so I am reserving the right to put him in multiple relationships or maybe with multiple partners throughout the novel. As I said nothing is concrete and I am still thinking. Note: Ginny is not under consideration. That's all I will give you. ;D__  
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Proverbial: Revelations 10:08:27

Everything has an ending, and from the ashes comes forth a new beginning. With every individual that falls into the comforting embrace of death, another is born into the wonder of life. Yet, every light casts forth a shadow, for neither can exist without the presence of the other.

One could even say that which comprises the universes is not matter, but that of opposing forces. It is a well-documented fact that for every force there is an equal and opposite reaction. This simple truth, when laid alongside the eastern philosophy of Yin Yang, leads to a convincing argument that the universe exists because of opposites. If any one of these forces, whether they be abstract or literal in nature, ceased to exist, so to would the rest of the universe. Thus we can speculate that this is also the reason for the chaotic nature of the universe. With an innumerable amount of forces vying for dominance at any point and time, chaos becomes a constant factor in the equation, system of checks and balances, ensuring that no single force ever gains dominance over the others. Of all the forces however, none is more recognized or depicted than that of the eternal struggle between good and evil. The reason for this is because of the large number of forces that have aligned themselves together under these two superficial labels to create the entities that they have become. It can be recognized above all things, that these two forces come together in one important thing and the reason why their battles are so recognizable and violent: Humanity.

An important thing to notice is that all of these altercations are the physical manifestation of the internal conflict that occurs as each individual ceases to recognize their own internal conflict and instead they unconsciously project it into the physical realm. This is also a symptom that the individual let certain forces, such as emotions, beliefs and ideas that comprise the mindscape, dominate their opposing forces. This is how each person is designated as unique, yet it is also a fatal flaw. By allowing themselves fall into that pattern of stagnancy, they become a pawn in the battlefield of life, easily manipulated and their weakness's exposed. It is by embracing that eternal conflict that one becomes an immovable force and a key factor in the universe, the chaos factor. Yet, these individuals are so rare that there has never been more than one in existence at a time. They are the personification and the embodiment of the chaos factor. Acting as the balancer of their time, their alignment depending on a combination of the balance, their personality, and the forces moving around them. The reason that so few exist is that to be good, one must love those who are evil, among whom one must include oneself. For, if one is to be good, one must also be evil, both at war and at peace with oneself. Thus you must know thy enemy and thyself, for if one is ignorant of either, you are certain to be in mortal peril. Recognizing these facts is like the well-timed swoop of the falcon, empowering it to strike and destroy its victim. Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of your opponents fate. Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance, then strike mercilessly.

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_Please Read and Review. A writer's confidence and dedication to what he is doing is much further strengthened by hearing positive reviews, whether they contain critique or not. Hearing that others are reading your work and loving it is the reason we do what we do. So please, please for the love of god, Read and Review after every chapter posted. Note: Flames will be laughed at and completely disregarded. Writers do not appreciate trash and will seek to have you banned in which case I will be laughing at you stirring in your own flames. ~ MacVega_


	2. Prologue: Fall of Nelvesna

**Harry Potter: Rise of a Fallen Hero**

**Written by: MacVega**

**Prologue  
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**v.01 11/18/2010**

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**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: Rise of a Fallen Hero' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing. Any original content you find in the story or don't recognize belongs to me.

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**Prologue**: **Fall of Nelvesna**

_Last stand of Ivalõrn; Fall of Nelvesna, circa 671 B.C._

An ornate city dwelling made from a compilation of sandstone, wood, and clay exploded in a shower of flame and debris, shattering the dark stillness of the desert night. Those who were still left standing after the blast hurried to quench the hungry flames before they could spread, as even more buildings exploded around them. Amidst the deadly rain of fiery rocks, the cacophonous sounds of fierce fighting could be heard across the Fortress City of Nelvesna, last bastion of Ivalõrn and her people.

Before the Assyrians invaded Egypt and overthrew the Pharaoh of the Twenty-Fifth Dynasty, Taharqa, the population of Ivalõrn was reported to be around fifty thousand in number. The Ivalõrians were naught but a small, albeit powerful, kingdom. Even the mighty Pharaohs of Egypt feared them, for they knew that their armies were insignificant next to the strength wielded by the Battlemasters, and so, they left them alone but for purposes of trade. Even though they wielded such power, Ivalõrn never openly sought conflict, merely knowledge. In accordance with their way of things in the past, they sought to avoid open conflict with the Assyrians, but this was ultimately rejected by the Assyrians, who were hell bent on the destruction of Egypt and everything in it. The Ivalõrians knew they were going to be fighting a losing battle with the Assyrian force, which numbered in the millions. Rather than flee, however, they stood their ground and resisted the invasion of their homeland. By this time the Egyptian Army had been crushed trying to stop the Assyrian advance, and the remnants of the defensive force was falling back when they happened upon the Ivalõrians. Fighting alongside the remnant of the Egyptian Army, the Ivalõrians fought fiercely to drive back the Assyrian's in the battle for Nilus Terrsus. Nilus Terrsus is a mountain pass through which the Nile travels before it reaches the depths of the desert sands where Plains of Norguard, and the Kalvergnian Mountains lay hidden. This decisive battle saw the destruction of both defensive forces but at a very high cost to the Assyrians, a pyrrhic victory if you will. As the fighting wore on, the Ivalõrians fell back to the cliffs in the desert plains of Norguard, to Nelvesna, where the last three thousand men and women of Ivalõrn prepared for their final act, the last stand of Ivalõrn, for the Assyrians have come...

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Deep within the Cliffs of Kalvergnia, against which Nelvesna had been built, Lord Sevrata Gal'drosa, High Lord of Ivalõrn and the last of the Ivalõrian Battlemasters, stood within a richly decorated atrium. A man of tall stature, roughly six and a half feet in height, he dwarfed those standing around him. He was well built in size and clad in war battered, but rather well kept silver runic plate armor, and a dark green war cloak. His left hand hung loosely at his side holding an equally battered helmet. He ran his free hand through his messy jet black hair and watched, his normally bright green eyes dulled with sorrow, as the Scholars of Nelvesna carried numerous crates of ancient knowledge deep into the complex. Each crate was filled with bundles of papyrus scrolls containing all of the knowledge upon which Ivalõrn was founded. Everything from gardening to foreign policy and political structure, from magical and runic knowledge, to the sacred texts of the Battlemasters, was represented in those scrolls. It was imperative that the Assyrians got their hands on nothing. Neither the knowledge of Ivalõrn, nor the vast treasury of Nelvesna was permitted to fall into their hands.

"Milord, are you alright?" A soft voice spoke from somewhere to the left of him.

Sevrata turned to regard the one who had spoken. His eyes fell upon a small woman dressed in simple flowing white robes. Her ethereal blonde hair framing her simple yet elegant face from which intelligent ice blue eyes stared back him. He gave her a soft yet, sad smile.

"Why would I be alright, Cecilia? My beloved nation is crumbling to pieces before my eyes, torn apart by the honourless soldiers of Assyria; my brothers and sisters are out there right now fighting a losing battle. And for what, to simply delay the inevitable? I know it is our way to never bow before such people, but every one of their deaths is like I have had a piece of my soul torn out."

Cecilia moved up close to him and placed a soft hand on his rugged face. "Every great thing comes to an end, milord. It is how we choose to pass on our legacy that truly matters. I have watched you for the past two months as you toiled tirelessly to put up some of the most advanced protections known to man, and some which are not, as a defense for this city, our city, when it falls. I know that you keyed the protections to trigger upon your death. I know that you expect to fail." She leaned forward and put her lips near his ear, her soft breath tickling his earlobe. "I have seen. You shall not fall in the way you expect. Know that your fight is not in vain and take comfort knowing that in the end you will be triumphant." When she finished speaking she moved away. "I will go prepare the scholars for our fate, we know our duty." She gave him a small but meaningful hug and a brief kiss on the lips before walking away into the darkness.

Sevrata watched after her, a single tear trailing down his battle-scarred face. Cecilia was the oracle for Ivalõrn and had been his lover for many long years. Yet her words gave him hope, and that was all he needed to ignite a raging fire in his soul. Those Assyrian dogs would not survive the night, not if he had anything to say about it. He whirled around, cloak swirling about him as he rammed his helmet upon his head. He walked out of the citadel and drew his sword, the sound of the blade leaving the sheath echoing through the hallway. He strode past fallen soldiers from both sides as he descended the many ramps of the interior keep. It appeared that the Assyrians had made it as far as this point before being pushed back towards a more comfortable defensive position. He could hear the sounds of fighting from here.

A half-dead Assyrian lunged at him from the darkness. Sevrata turned, slamming his blade through the soldiers abdomen and ripping it back out. Tossing the dead soldier from the wall top, he continued towards the front line. He neither flinched, nor broke his stride as a flaming boulder crashed into the ground beside him. The sounds of fighting reached a roaring crescendo as he approached the courtyard of the exterior keep. The courtyard was in chaotic disarray. Masonry and broken statues littered the ground alongside the fallen, flames engulfed the area, black smoke obscuring the night sky, and amidst it all the Ivalõrians were locked in a fierce unwavering mêlée with the Assyrian forces, who were pushing hard.

With a furious roar, Sevrata threw himself forward, hitting the flank of the Assyrians with the force of a great typhoon. Bodies flew out of his path as ancient incantations flew forth from his throat, reducing his opponents to bloody shreds. Using his peripheral vision, he briefly noted how his presence had invigorated his fellow soldiers and that the Assyrians began to be pushed back. It wasn't hard to lose all sense of time as one Assyrian after another fell to both his blade and magic. As time dragged on, he no longer remembered how long it had been since he had reached the courtyard. Though his battle-hazed vision he saw the enemy had begun to thin and this raised his spirits. One small worry kept its presence at the forefront of his mind, however, nagging him with constant persistence. The General of the Assyrian Army had not yet made an appearance. It was just as he finished hewing the head off of another faceless Assyrian that he saw him. A tall figure in dark black armor and a red cape walking through the destruction like it didn't even exist, like it was beneath his notice. General Alonso Taj.

Sevrata knew little about the leader of the Assyrian force. Despite being upon the same battlefield as the man numerous times, he never came into contact with him. The latter adhering to a preference of leading from the rear. The exact opposite of his own methodology. If Taj was here, then the Assyrians must be on their last legs.

"Taj!" Sevrata roared in fury and sliced through Assyrian after Assyrian, fighting furiously to get to his nemesis, the killer of his people. Taj smirked and drew his scimitar. "Gal'drosa," he laughed, "you are the last of a dying breed. Still fighting back even though you've lost your teeth." His teeth bared in a feral grin. "Guess we will have to fix that, won't we?"

Sevrata's response was an angry roar. "_**Gestato!" **_A large black swirl shot towards Taj, who swiped the spell to the side with a wave of his sword. "Is that the best you can do?" he chuckled, "pathetic."

"_**Lacetorious! Confringo! Hallus! Ferio!" **_

Taj managed to block the first three spells with his own shield spells but the last one shattered his erected shield and a large spear of silver pierced his shoulder.

He coughed up a bit of blood. "So you want to play vermin?" He hissed, "I will make you pay for that one." It was Sevrata's turn to laugh, "Why don't you put your threats into actions, you spineless dog." Taj ripped the spear out of his shoulder and lunged at Sevrata, their swords meeting in a shower of sparks, and steel. They fought back and forth swords glinting in the firelight of the burning city. A slash caught Sevrata in the forearm drawing blood. They separated, panting, the two foes circling around one another warily. Simultaneously they lunged forward spells erupting forth, ripping into one another. Their blades met in a crash of steel. Their eyes locked, and Taj saw death reflected back at him. Survival was apparently no longer the objective of this battle. Death could be the only outcome, whether it was just one or both of them, it would end tonight.

Taj whirled out of the sword lock only to be caught in the back by the Sevrata's blade. Both opponents were bloody and weary, their armor in pieces and clothing in tatters. Yet they fought on. Magical power shot forth from the two opponents to collide in magical force that shook the very earth for leagues around. Taj flew backwards where he hit a stone wall, and Sevrata hit one of the few statues still standing as a result of the aftershock. Each one of them picked themselves off the ground and readied for themselves once more. Eyes locked one more time and they both knew that this would be the deciding clash. Sevrata roared the ancient battle cry of the Ivalõrian Battlemasters. "Specto Haud Misericordia!" Which in turn was matched by Taj's "For the glory of Assyria!" They met in a swirl of blue and gold light, blades tilted towards each other. The light exploded into thousands of pieces revealing the two men standing ten paces apart and facing away from one another. A moment passed before Taj collapsed with a gurgle as his head slowly slid from his shoulders.

"You lose," Sevrata whispered. He gently removed his hand from his chest to see it dripping with blood. He would have been a fool to miss the growing bloodstain that pooled down his torso. "But I will join you soon enough." He released a gasping chuckle, "You were right my love, you were right. I can die happy now." His numb hands released their hold on the sword in his hands, which fell to the stone bloodstained ground with a metallic clatter. He slowly collapsed to the ground to lie with his fellow his comrades, the brave men and women of Ivalõrn. " I love you…" he whispered and with one last breath passed away. As he passed on from this world, silence befell the battlefield. For throughout the fortress, not a single soul still moved; there were no survivors. Overhead, thunder rumbled and a light rain began to fall.

As the years passed on, the city of Nelvesna was lost time, and it's existence fell into the realm of myth. To the Egyptians it became known as the lost city, and a symbol for which they should fight. For on that fateful night the Assyria's hopes of destroying Egypt were crushed, with the fall of their immense army. For this reason, they remembered. It was known as... Hamunaptra.

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Translation: Specto Haud Misericordia! - Expect No Mercy (Latin)

_Authors Note: I wish to apologize for my late update. My laptop's hard drive, and vacuum disk drive crashed on me and I had to send it in to get replaced, on top of that all my data was lost in the process so I had to rebuild from scratch. You may yell at me and berate me for lacking a secondary system on which I back up my files. In my defense, I am in college and thus by extension, am poor. I would like to say that this story is still up for adoption by a qualified beta so if you think that you might qualified to beta read and offer technical and grammatical expertise. Please pm, or email me if interested. I also wish to thank those of you have reviewed and I understand that the first piece of writing in the story was not exactly substantial in plot, as it was meant to be. That is why it is the forward, and not the prologue like this is. I also wish to say this is not the norm for the length of my chapters. Expect the length to increase. :) _

_I wish to thank everyone who has reviewed so far and I encourage those of you who have added the story to your alert list or favorites to pitch in a review as well. My review goal for this story is a minimum of seven hundred. That being said, thank you for your input and your patience in regards to this story.  
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_Disclaimer: This chapter is of my making and I would appreciate if anyone tries to use any of the original ideas or names i came up with here, that they consult with myself first. That being said, I do not own the harry potter series. It belongs to Rowling...damn it. There is no money being made from this fiction. The only value being generated is the readers enjoyment. Thank you.  
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	3. Chapter 1: From the Darkness

**Harry Potter: Rise of a Fallen Hero**

**Written by: MacVega**

**Chapter 01**

**v.01 12/23/2010**

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**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: Rise of a Fallen Hero' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

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**Chapter 01**: **From the Darkness**

_July 3, 1996_

It was a considerably warm summer night. A soft breeze whispered through the air, caressing the leaves of the diverse flora which populated the suburban county of Surrey. At the entrance of a lone neighbourhood an off-white picket sign swung lazily in the midsummer breeze. Upon its faded surface, the phrase '_Making Surrey a better place_' could be seen tattooed in a similarly diminished curly blue font over the Surrey County Coat of Arms, consisting of a shield divided into halves, both blue and black, with interlaced gold keys lying across the shield diagonally. In the lower left corner was the symbol of a woolpack and in the upper right, a sprig of oak.

Dully lit streetlamps lined the darkened streets of Little Whinging, casting ominous shadows upon house number four of privet drive. The exterior of the house had an almost immaculate appearance, so much so that it projected an overwhelming sense of falsity. Within the looming walls of the small two level house, the only sounds to disturb the seemingly peaceful evening were the snores that issued forth from the master bedroom and one other adjoining room, snores that could have easily put a fully grown troll to shame.

In the farthest corner of the upper floor a lone bedroom stood out beyond the others. The rickety wooden door looked to be in rather poor repair. Grotty, discolored white paint chips were peeling off the door as if they were repulsed by being forced upon such a shameful surface. The wood itself was a dishwater brown splintered in all the places where the paint had frayed, flecked, or been stripped off. All along the side of the door various locking mechanisms were bolted shut. The once polished brass now rusty and unkempt by obvious neglect. The same held true for the door handle. Which instead of sitting at the appropriate level setting, hung loosely upon the surface, its tarnished handle pointing at a downward angle towards the dusty maroon and gold colored carpet that stopped at the foot of the doorway.

The interior of the room wasn't in much better shape. Loose and creaky wooden floorboards made up much of the floor's surface area with a single piece of drab and over used furniture, each having seen many days past its prime, taking up residence in each corner of the room. In one corner, by the door, a faded wardrobe stood regally tall, covered with dust. Another was occupied by an armoire, its mirror marred by streaks of dirt and grime. On the opposite side of the room a bed took up most of the wall. It was a rather small room. A singular window, small and prison-like, with iron bars fitted to the frame sat tauntingly above a dilapidated desk, completing the room's uncongenial features. What was even more depressing than the state of the room was that a human being actually lived within. A young sixteen year old boy, in fact. His name, was Harry Potter.

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Harry awoke from blissful unconsciousness drenched in a cold sweat. The cold that crawled over his skin was like a welcome caress, a soft whisper that did not bite despite its lingering nature. Blood-soaked bedsheets were raveled about his limbs, and he gasped out, trying to wrench himself free of his bindings. In retrospect, this probably wasn't the best idea. Tears sprung into his eyes as he cried out in anguish, his wounds reopening and beginning to freely bleed once more. Agony permeated throughout his entire body every time he tried to move and even when he stayed still it throbbed quite distressingly.

Panting hard, he once again tried to tear the covers away from his sweat soaked body; The pain continually pumping through his body, rapidly alternating between hot flashes and cold sweats. As a result of this attempt, he found himself upon the floor and this time he did scream. The pain was unbearable, his vision grew dark, clouded with a red haze. On the verge of blacking out, he blindly reached a trembling hand out, trying vainly to find the loose floorboard where he stored his things. As his fingers brushed against the loose floorboard where they should have laid hidden, a influx of memories assaulted his beleaguered mind.

He remembered when he stepped off the train at the end of his fifth year. _'Was it really only three days ago?' _He had been assaulted by concerned parents, primarily the Weasleys and other members of the Order of The Phoenix. He had brushed them off saying he was fine. At the time he had wanted nothing more than to disappear and get some time to himself. After everything that had happened, he figured he was entitled to at least some time to grieve.

However, Mad-eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, and Arthur Weasley thought it would be a brilliant idea to have words with his so-called relatives to get them off his back. Despite his fervent pleas to let it be, they ignored him and went to do so anyway. After finally managing to escape into the Dursley's car, if you could even call that an escape, he tried desperately to avoid his relatives glares and leers which promised pain. It was around that time that the shock began to set in and everything began to fade out. He was able to notice his uncle's lips moving but he couldn't make out any of the words. It was as if he had been dunked into water and all of his senses muddled.

It was a long car ride home and he barely registered the ride. He was jolted out of that particular state, for as soon as they pulled in the driveway, they rather forcefully ordered him to get his stuff and get inside. He struggled with his trunk and made his way up the front porch steps and into the house. After closing the front door he turned around and the only thing he saw before blacking out was a beefy fist flying towards his face.

After that the next three days were a blur. If he was honest with himself, he realized he couldn't remember much. All he could recall were momentary flashes of blinding pain. The only memory that was clear to him was when his relatives forced him to watch them burn his school trunk and destroy his belongings. They snapped and burned his wand and one by one burned the photos of his parents in front of him. The only thing that was spared from their ruthless onslaught was through simple luck. He had forgotten to latch Hedwig's cage closed, so she was able to escape to safety and avoid the clutches his murderous relatives.

As the memories passed, Harry's hand fell limply upon the floor. There wasn't anything for him to find in his old hiding place but dust and dirt. Reaching for his broken glasses on the nightstand, he managed to slip them on his face. '_I have to get out of here'_ he thought as another spasm passed throughout his body. _'But how? I have no wand, no way of magically getting out of this prison.'_ Then a thought struck him. _'I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. Anywhere would be better than here.' _

There was a loud crack as the wards around number four flared, and Harry vanished from within.

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That very same night found the pale full moon illuminating the natural greenery of the rural county of Somerset far to the east of Surrey. A solitary nightingale flew over an isolated house singing its melodious song. Situated between a sparse forest and its surrounding meadows, the house was placed in such a way that it would be slightly shaded from the sun's ever seeking waves had it been daylight. It wasn't a very large house, being roughly one and a half floors in height.

What the house lacked in size on the other hand, it made up for in acreage. Surrounding the immediate household was an ostensible garden that rivaled some of the aristocracy's personal collections. Beyond the hedges bordering the garden were orchards and vineyards as far as the eye could see. The only other source of light outside of the pale moonlight was the flickering candlelight that splayed upon the outside of the house through an open window.

Hermione Granger stood upon a ladder organizing the books in her family's library. A rapidly decreasing stack of antiquated tomes sporting various faded bindings was piled upon the top shelf of the ladder in front of her. She stood barefoot in tight fitting blue jeans and a dark green blouse. Her gentle brown eyes were alight with happiness as she hummed a tune in harmony with the nightingale's song. A soft breeze fluttered through an open window, gently ruffling her long, dark golden brown hair.

A flutter of flapping wings announced the arrival of a winged messenger. Hermione turned her head looking for what she rightfully determined to be a owl. A snowy white owl that she was intimately familiar with soared through the open window towards her.

"Hello, Hedwig. Have something from Harry for me?" She asked gently. Having been on the receiving end of messages by way of this method of correspondence for quite some time, she was startled to see that Hedwig sported no message and that the owl was clearly distressed about something.

Agitated, Hedwig landed upon Hermione's shoulder and shuffled around a bit. Hermione bit her lip worriedly, her good mood rapidly vanishing.

"Something's wrong with Harry, am I right?"

Hedwig whipped her head around and stared at Hermione accusingly as if saying_ 'of course something's wrong with him, he's lost his godfather and is locked up with those abhorrent relatives of his'_ Sadly Hermione couldn't discern what Hedwig was trying to convey. The owl stiffened, and cocked her head as if confused. She had just registered Harry's presence instantly transporting elsewhere. Far to the south in fact, south of Europe.

The thing about Hedwig is she wasn't your normal run of the mill owl. She was more magical than the other messengers. She like other owls, could sense a magical being's location at all times using their magical aura as a beacon. Unlike other owls though, she had bonded with her wizard as his familiar, which in itself was a rarity in the wizarding world. So in addition, she could roughly determine what state of health he was in, whether physical or emotional in nature. It was almost like a form of passive legilimency. While she was an owl and couldn't really foresee the future or anything, her sense of being able to predict and divine things on a small scale had always been prevalent. She never really questioned this because it had been something that always simply had been.

Her memories of anything that happened before being locked up in that store in Diagon Alley were very fuzzy, which while disturbing to the owl because she had always had perfect recall, was something she couldn't do anything about. So, at the moment, she could sense that his health was borderline that of a coma and subsequently death, but there was a very strong feeling accompanying that reading saying he was in no danger. Which while confusing, comforted the agitated bird.

On the other hand, Hermione did not have the same luxury that Hedwig did. So, while the owl was comforted, Hermione became agitated and bordered on the edge of a full blown meltdown. For she had caught sight of some of Hedwig's feathers, which were slightly burnt and covered with blood.

"I must contact Headmaster Dumbledore! Have to figure out if he's alright.." Her pattern of speech rapidly digressed as tears came to her eyes and she panicked looking for a pot of green floo powder. She stumbled towards the fireplace only to be blocked by a screeching Hedwig, who had launched herself from Hermione's shoulder and was now flapping her wings and buffeting Hermione with her body in order to block her passage towards the fireplace.

Hermione stopped confused by the owl's actions. "You don't want me to contact the headmaster?" She watched as Hedwig rotated her head side to side in a negative gesture. At the owl's response, Hermione's last vestige of self-control disappeared and she collapsed sobbing onto a nearby sofa, her head buried in her arms. Hedwig fluttered down onto the arm of the sofa and gently buffeted her head against Hermione's assuredly.

"Please tell me he will be alright. Tell me he will come back to me. I can't lose him." She begged desperately chocking on her sobs, pleading with the owl.

Hedwig tilted her head a moment in contemplation before bobbing her head in response. If the owl could have had a facial expression at the moment, it would have been something halfway between a smirk and a smile.

"So you will be staying with me till that time?" She whispered softly. Hedwig hooted in an affirmative, causing the Hermione to raise her eyebrow in amusement. "You are much smarter than the other owl's, aren't you?" Hedwig puffed up proudly and nipped Hermione's ear affectionately eliciting a slight giggle from the young seventeen year old girl, who then curled up and fell asleep upon the sofa, emotionally exhausted, while Hedwig perched watchfully overhead.

* * *

Somewhere in Northern Scotland, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat in his office, his bright purple robes with silver stars glittering in the room's dim light. His bright blue eyes twinkling as he laid out his plans for the coming year. A puff of red smoke drew his eyes to the remaining set of silver trinkets that lined the shelves of his office. After Harry lost control in his office when he was told the prophecy, he had smashed many of Dumbledore's things in a fit of raging magic. As a result, Albus learned a valuable lesson. When Harry broke something, it stayed broken. He had repeatedly tried to repair many of the broken trinkets only to fail numerous times. He was lucky to have salvaged what he had.

He frowned in thought as the silver pendulum tied to the wards at private drive slowed to a stop before restarting its repetitive motions once more. He gave a mental shrug. _'Looks like Harry will have to stay at private drive longer than I expected in order to charge the wards. I might be able to get him to the burrow by early August.__ After all it was for the best.__ Although I really do hope he is okay.' _With no great deal of satisfaction, he popped a lemon drop into his mouth and happily sucked away._  
_

Unbeknownst to Dumbledore however_,_ the winds of change had already begun to blow. And it wasn't a soft breeze either. _  
_

* * *

Harry cried out as he reappeared and tumbled down a slope, a foreign substance entering into his wounds, burning and stinging. His mouth was filled with a gritty substance. Sputtering and spitting, he attempted to eject the unknown material out of his mouth as he vainly tried to stand up, only to collapse back into the...sand? He cracked open his blood caked eyes and tried to take in his surroundings, but was forced to close them again to shield his senses from a blinding light.

Shielding his eyes with his right hand, he once again looked around to see...desert. Harry wanted to scream in frustration. He had only wished to escape and his magic sent him to a desert of all places! He could swear that he could hear fate laughing at him in the background. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but he thought he saw mountains in the distance, and... he squinted, was that green at the base? He slowly began to crawl towards what he thought he saw. It shimmered in the heat so he reasoned that it could be a mirage. He recognized that he had no other option however, for surrounding him on all sides was a wide expanse of rolling desert dune hills in every direction.

The sun beat down upon his brow as he half crawled, half dragged himself across the landscape. The desert heat enveloped him, his sweat soaked tattered clothing clung closely to his skin, irritating his injuries even more. His unconsciously licked his parched and dry cracked lips as he thought he spotted a shimmering blue river winding around the forest and disappearing into the mountains. By the time he reached the edge of the jungle the mid-day sun hung directly overhead. It was here that is world-weary body finally failed him and he collapsed in a heap, the canopy of the jungle swimming overhead. Black circles began to creep in from the edges of his vision and he struggled in vain to banish them back from whence they came. He was unsuccessful in his endeavors and finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

Herius was a fortunate snake, or so he thought. He had spotted a figure that collapsed at the entrance of the jungle that he was tasked with guarding. Food delivered right to our doorstep. What luck. _§Sister!§_ he called.

There was a sound that sounded like a mixture between a sigh and a grumble. _§Why do you disturb my rest. It is your guard shift is it not?§_ A feminine hiss resounded as a large female coatl slithered into view. At roughly four and a half meters long, the poisonous winged snake glared at her slightly smaller brother.

_§But Shiva§_ he whined, _§Food just delivered itself to our doorstep.§_

Shiva shook her head slowly. _§Always thinking with your stomach you are.§_ Nevertheless she felt it best to appease her brother and decided to check it out, if only to put an end to her brothers incessant whining. Slithering forth to the fallen form at the jungle's entrance she recoiled with shock.

Herius sidled up alongside her. _§Can we eat it?§_

Shiva whipped her head around so quickly that she brought a slight headache upon herself. _§No you fool, who does that look like to you?§_

Herius lowered his head down to earth level to get a better look at the person on the ground. His forked tongue flickered out and tasted the air. _§We must inform the Watchmen of this development.§ _he hissed._ §Besides, I wouldn't want to eat that anyway.§_ He shuddered, _§It would have killed me.§_

Shiva tilted her head in confusion. _§Explain.§_

_§Can't you smell it?§_ He asked. _§He carries the king's poison in his blood._

Shiva reared her head back in shock._ §And he is still living? Not possible. But you are right, I do smell it.§_

Herius nodded his head. _§He is alive. The poison is several summers old. I sense phoenix tears as well. __Which would explain how he is unaffected by its presence in his system._

Turning around, both snakes retreated deep into the jungle to alert their master of the unexpected arrival.

* * *

As the desert Sun reached its zenith, a ominous shadow fell upon the crumpled form of the boy-who-lived. It belonged to a hooded figure, who bent down and picked up the boy's broken body, cradling him as a mother would a child. Brushing a lock of raven black hair from the boy's bloody face, the figure spoke in a soft, low timbre.

"Come, let's get you somewhere safe. Heir of Ivalõrn."

* * *

Authors Note: While I did say the next chapter would be longer, I neglected to say that all of it might not be story. My apologies. This will very likely be the only authors note with this much information in it. However, I felt what I wrote and spent my time to research and form an opinion on for purposes of not only this fanfiction of mine, but of those I may write in the future. I will also have this posted to my profile around the same time that this chapter appeared for you to enjoy. For those of you who have reviewed, thank you so very much. Your encouragement is what keeps me going and reminds me that I have people who care to see this story to the end. For those of you who haven't or may not know how there is a link at the bottom of this page that says review this chapter. Please click it. It is quick and easy and takes less than a minute of your time maybe five if you want to leave a comprehensive and detailed critique. Even a simple "good job keep it up" and "looking forward to the next update" is a relieving sight. I will try to update soon and hold myself to your expectations.

~MacVega signing out.

* * *

On currency and exchange rates in the wizarding world: Author's Delegation

I am ignoring the information presented by the prefaces of Fantastic Beasts and where to find them, as well as Quidditch Through the Ages. In these aforementioned prefaces their sales are presented at 250,000,000 USD or 34,000,000 Galleons. For the purpose of this presentation, I will refer to wizarding money as WZG. Doing some basic division will reveal that the exchange rate offered by these books is roughly 7.35 USD/WZG. As we know, wizarding currency is based on precious metals, such as gold and silver, like all of our real world currencies were around a few centuries ago. Back in those days, exchange rates were fixed and based solely upon the precious metal content in the corresponding coin. Daily exchange rates for metals were unnecessary. In other words you need to remember the gold standard. A time whence banknotes carried inscriptions indicating their worth in such and such amount of silver, or such and such amount of gold. Nowadays with our more modern currencies, they aren't fixed to the gold content, which is why rates vary due to fluctuating economical and commercial conditions.

Therefore, to my mind the honorable goblins of Gringotts Bank of London, and their worldwide branches, adapt the galleon rate to match the worlds constantly fluctuating gold and silver prices. So with that in mind I calculate my prices based upon that years average of gold prices to find a reasonable price per ounce of gold over the years of 1980 - 1996. I do this because this is from Harry's birth to where my story picks up. So adding up the prices of gold from that time period, we get a total of $6,788.00 and then divide it by the seventeen years passed to get an average of $399.29 per ounce of gold. That is the core value used to determine the money system for my story. In my head I have always imagined the galleon have a mass around 11.340 grams (0.365 troy oz), a diameter of 30.61 mm, and a thickness of 2.15 mm. In other words, it is around the size of the U.S. half-dollar coin. Taking this information and the above average of gold we can calculate the value per galleon as if it was pure gold.

Solve the Equation: $399.29 * 0.365 troy oz = $145.74

Now before I conclude this part of the discussion, I would like to detail the system I am using for British currency. The pound, or sovereign I will be using interchangeably. I will admit I have a weakness for history and a tendency to fall back to it. I will also use the traditional 1 shilling = 12 pence with 20 shillings per sovereign.

In other words if we assume the galleon is pure gold (24 carat) then each galleon has an exchange rate of 1 galleon = $145.74. Converting this to pounds sterling using the exchange rate from July 1996 (1 USD = 0.643293 GBP) we find that 1 galleon = 93 sovereigns, 6 shillings and 3 pence (93.75 pounds). However since galleons are not pure gold and the composition is unknown, I am delegating that the galleon is made of 19 carat gold. Wizards like prime numbers remember? This means the galleon is made of 79.2% gold and 20.8% other alloys. So to find the values of a gallon take the 93.75 value we got earlier and multiply it by the percentage of gold in the coin.

79.2% * 93.75 = $74.25

Now we have to calculate the other 20.8% to find the value of the coin. For purposes of this discussion and my own sanity (not that I ever had it) I am going to designate what percentages of different alloys make up the rest of the coin. The alloys can be broken down as follows.

9.2% Platinum  
6.4% Rhodium*  
3.1% Copper  
2.3% Nickel

*Being a rare metal found in alloys of platinum and copper, it is virtually unaffected by corrosion, which explains how galleons never corrode and are always in excellent condition.

Now to find the remaining value of the coin we have to do a similar process with the three above materials.

Average Cost of Material (in ounces) from 1980-1996

Platinum: $432.35  
Rhodium: $1,202.85  
Copper: $6.78  
Nickel: $0.20

Converted to Average Cost in (troy ounces) from 1980-1996

Platinum: $432.35 * 0.365 = 157.81  
Rhodium: $1,202.85 * 0.365 = 439.04  
Copper: $6.78 * 0.365 = $2.47  
Nickel: $0.20 * 0.365 = $0.30

Value of Platinum: 9.2% * $157.81 = $14.52  
Value of Rhodium = 6.4% * 439.04 = $28.09  
Value of Copper: 3.1% * $2.47 = $0.66  
Value of Nickel: 2.3% * $0.30 = $0.007  
WZG = $74.25 + 28.09 + $14.52 + $0.07 + $0.0007

Exchange rate using total value of 1 galleon = x:

Total Value of the Galleon (USD)= $116.93  
Total Value of the Galleon (GBP)= 75 sovereigns, 1 shilling, and 2 pence (75.22 pounds)

Therefore in the most simplified terms:

1 galleon = $116.93  
Or  
1 galleon = 75.22 sovereigns

So to correct J.K.R. using my system, as well as give you an application of in action. If the sales had been indeed 250,000,000 USD the galleons paid by the wizarding society would have been ~2,138,031 WZG or conversely, if the income had indeed been 34,000,000 WZG then non-magical sales revenue would have totaled 3,975,620,000 USD or 2,557,480,000 sovereigns.


End file.
